


a murder of crows

by wrino



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Ensemble Cast, F/F, LOTS of violence, M/M, Multi, loosely based on every superhero movie i've ever watched, some blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-01 07:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11481636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrino/pseuds/wrino
Summary: For millennia, the world has lived on without ever knowing about the Anomalies, and laws both underground and over it have always been strictly implemented to maintain ignorance. Power defiles eventually, however, and soon all of humankind finds itself against adversaries beyond any metal weapons.or: a haikyuu!! superpower au





	1. fifteen's a crowd

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i should be updating my coffee shop au, but i just had so many ideas for a superhero au that i had to start writing it immediately. please don't read this if you aren't into violence because i really love writing action scenes, especially fight scenes, and you'll see a lot of them in this fic (even if they aren't that good lol).
> 
> regarding romance, i'll be adding ships to the tags as soon as i hint them in the story. it'll contain more than just what's in the tags as of the first chapter (tsukyam and daisuga to be specific), and the tags will be arranged based on frequency in the story as i add more ships.
> 
> enjoy @(・●・)@

The Watanabe Memorial Orphanage is every bit as nondescript as its name. The narrow building fills a space in the middle of the street in the middle of the city, quietly wedged in between a dilapidated tattoo parlor and a secondhand bookstore. Each of its four storeys is painted a white that now peels off the walls as a consequence of time, exposing the drab concrete underneath. Five perfectly square windows pepper the front of the establishment at random, and any bystander can look into any of them and observe a piece of clothing drying from the sill, or a potted succulent perched precariously on the edge.

Typical onlookers do not notice, however, the thin vines crawling through the slither of space between the building and Magink Tattoos, and enveloping the area Nakamura Pages fails to occupy. They might never espy the stems stretch to the back of the orphanage and douse the garden with vibrant green, or grow against chlorophyll-stained walls – infiltrating windows as they twist through beds and chairs.  The tomatoes and eggplants growing in neat rows will remain undisturbed save for the crows and the orphanage’s inhabitants, who routinely sell the crops to cut costs. Yamaguchi Tadashi will continue to be unnoticed, as he balances on the edge of a windowsill on the second floor and holds a paper cup to his ear.

“How long has he been staying here? At the orphanage?” A voice travels through a long vine and into the paper cup. With one hand clutching the makeshift telephone, Tadashi shifts so both his legs dangle off the window. The voice sounds male, young. Maybe the voice owns an understaffed bookstore, or an almost-bankrupt convenience store at the very corner of the city. God, he hopes the man doesn’t expect him to lift heavy boxes. Or even just regular boxes. If he’s really lucky, maybe he’s just meant to inherit the family name.

“We found him outside when we thought he was just a few months old. That’s his birthday. Or, well, officially. He’s turning eighteen in a few months. Officially,” Hirabayashi stumbles, as if a single wrong one could send his prospective parents running for the hills _._

“And he’s never been fostered?”

“The few foster parents we’ve had weren’t particularly interested in him, the poor thing.” The poor thing can hear her frowning. He raises the hand not holding the paper cup, and a branch reaches out to him. Tadashi promptly picks a red apple from the tree with a whispered “thanks”, careful not to wake any of his roommates. He bites into his breakfast and smiles at the taste.

The branch returns to its original position ten feet away. A crow flies down to perch on it.

“Tadashi-kun is… shy, Takemoto-san.” Takemoto Tadashi. Huh.

“And you know nothing about his parents? They didn’t leave a letter or a card or…?”

“We just found him on our front steps, wrapped in a handkerchief with his name on it.” Tadashi hates this story, though it is, apparently, true. It’s straight out of a bad Hollywood movie, and he was poised to be the main character the second Hirabayashi opened the door and gasped at his tiny face.

“How is he?”

“He’s great! No history of any scary illnesses or injuries, both physically _and emotionally_.” She emphasizes that last part, and Tadashi wants to be buried alive. “Blood type O positive, the universal donor, you know. He’s the tallest at Watanabe at, um… one hundred-"

"Ah yes, but I meant, what are things he likes?” Tadashi raises an eyebrow. Prospective parents rarely ask about things beyond what’s already written on the file, especially those looking to adopt children as old as he is. Is the man looking for something more specific? Wouldn’t he need some of Yamaguchi’s omnipotent, universally donating blood someday in the future?

“Um, he reads, but not a lot. I guess he helps out in the garden most days,” Hirabayashi stutters, obviously as confused as he is.

“The garden?”

“Watanabe has a small garden at the back where we grow some fruits and vegetables. Apples, eggplants...” Hirabayashi is probably gesturing vaguely toward the window, as if vines aren’t blocking the view. “Ah, we’ve actually been told we have the best tomatoes in the prefecture!”

Tadashi blushes at the compliment.

“I didn’t think you could grow anything in the middle of the city.” Takemoto-san’s thinly disguised delight only boosts the teenager’s suspicion.

“Oh, but we _do_! And I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she says, lowering her voice. “Even when the crops don’t get much water for weeks at a time, they grow up to be as big and as juicy as ever! The soil is _blessed_ ,” she gushes. Tadashi snorts into his apple. That’s one way to put it.

“And that Tadashi. Wakes up at the crack of dawn to, um,” she pauses. “ _Water_ all of them.” Tadashi talks to them, actually, but that probably isn’t something couples look for in a kid. Or in a working adult, in his case.

“We’ll take him.” Tadashi can tell, even through the paper cup, that the man is smiling.

“ _Really?_ ” Really?

“He sounds like a great kid.” _Oh my god_ , Tadashi thinks. _This is actually happening._

“He is, Takemoto-san. I’m glad Tadashi-kun’s finally found a home.” Warmth pools in Tadashi’s chest. _Home._

“Did you bring the documents I asked for over the phone?”

A chirp of assent makes its way to Tadashi’s cup, and the sound of shuffling papers follows.

“Perfect,” Hirabayashi breathes. _This is actually, finally happening._ “Now, you’ll be registering as foster-to-adopt parents, and you’ll have to undergo a few months of basic training with Tadashi to make to make you actually fit for the adoption process. Then comes the formal interview and home visit, by either the local child guidance center or Watanabe, and then you’ll wait until the application is approved before – ”

“Um, about that. Could we actually just adopt him, um… right now?” Tadashi almost chokes on his half-finished apple. The convenience store is apparently in much more trouble than he originally thought.

“It’s just that we live very far away, and we’re worried we won’t be able to attend training sessions, and all that,” Takemoto continues.

“I’m sorry, Takemoto-san, but it’s a requirement, especially for first time foster parents. Rules are rules.”

Silence follows, and Tadashi lets out a long, practiced sigh. So much for adoption. He’ll stay in Watanabe until he’s eighteen, and with his piss-poor credentials he’ll find a low-paying job the morning of his birthday. The money won’t be enough, so he’ll set up residence at a cave in the forest north of the city. He’ll befriend the woodland creatures by feeding them tomatoes and apples from his eventual vegetable garden, like a male, tan, freckled Snow White. Maybe he’ll betray a deer every now and then when he’s in the mood for venison.

He’s snapped out of his reverie by a third voice, one he hadn’t heard before then. “I’m sure you’ll see we’ve provided you with _all_ the necessar _y_ documents, and I’m quite confident that my husband and I have the necessary skills and emotional maturity to adopt Yamaguchi-kun, even without formal training. Don’t you agree, Hirabayashi-san?”

The woman melodically relays a robot’s speech, as if she’s singing a complex heart surgery procedure. Her voice is saccharine, but her words are laced with menace. She speaks slowly, as if every syllable should be processed, heard. Internalized. A shiver makes its way down Tadashi’s spine.

This isn’t enough to intimidate Hirabayashi, though, he knows. The head caregiver is almost as old as Watanabe itself, but she never bends for anybody, especially for things as set in stone as the orphanage’s adoption policies.

At least the other woman tried. Besides, befriending the deer doesn’t sound _that_ -

“Of course, Takemoto-san. My apologies for assuming otherwise.”

Oh.

“Could you take us to him, please?”

 

* * *

 

What the fuck just happened?

Tadashi buries himself under his threadbare blanket and closes his eyes. He counts upwards, and it takes him until five to steady his otherwise labored breathing. Thin vines enter through the open window and wrap around his legs and torso, engulfing him in a bright green cocoon. One of his roommate laughs in his sleep when a leaf brushes against his ear.  

There are people like him. Tadashi shouldn’t be surprised; it was impossible that only he’d been born an irregularity, that only he’d been randomly selected by some higher power to do god knows what. He’s surprised anyway, and he fidgets nervously with a leaf at the edge of his bed.

The woman is a mind-controller of some sort, that much is certain. She had the heavily-armored Hirabayashi in her grasp in under three honeyed sentences, and only Tadashi, who had been listening through a paper cup, could tell she was unnatural. That her sweet voice was tinged with something dark and mysterious. Tadashi shudders, and a few vines move from their different positions on his person to settle on his head. They weave through his hair to create small braids, and the leaves tickle the freckles on his cheek.

He doesn’t know what to make of the man. Tadashi had thought that he was only there to adopt an almost-eighteen-year-old son, but his visions had quickly changed from working the cash register at a convenience store to robbing banks with his adoptive super parents. Maybe Takemoto has super strength, and Tadashi was worried about carrying boxes for nothing. Maybe he can fly. Maybe he can glow in the dark. Hey, maybe he’s a demon.

Tadashi gulps. Do demons exist? He places a hand over a vine on his chest, and a small mass forms under his fingertips. The lump expands under his palm until it feels heavy on his stomach. He opens his eyes and finds a large, ripe watermelon under his relatively small hands.

Fuck. Demons _definitely_ exist.

There is a knock on the door. Startled, Tadashi sits up and clutches the watermelon to his chest. The vines retreat from his body and leave his clothes and hair smelling like an overgrown lawn.

“Tadashi-kun? Some people are here to see you.” Tadashi doesn’t answer, and the knocks on the door increase in number and volume.

“Tadashi?” Hirabayashi tries again, in a voice thicker than her usual.

“Oi, Yamaguchi, _answer the damn door_ ,” Okazaki mumbles, still half-asleep.

Tadashi slowly gets off his bed, places the watermelon on top of his blanket, and walks ten paces to the only door in the room. The knocking continues. He opens the door and finds himself face to face with two bespectacled strangers, both about half a ruler shorter than him. Hirabayashi stands to the side, hand frozen in mid-knock.

“Hello, Yamaguchi-kun,” the man says. Tadashi does not reply, does not regard anything with any sort of noise, even as Hirabayashi dazedly leads them to the small living room at the end of the hall. Neither the man nor his mind-controlling companion seem to mind.

“Mr. and Mrs. Takemoto,” Hirabayashi starts, clasping her hands, “are here to give you a new home!” It sounds like what someone would say at the pet store. Or a poster at the animal shelter, with stock photos of kittens arranged in a neat row, _give us a new home right meow_ , printed underneath. _Do you have room in your heart and home to adopt Yamaguchi Tadashi?_ says Tadashi’s poster, above a picture of him beside a heart topiary or something.

He realizes he’s gone a few seconds without supplying a reply, and lets out a noncommittal “oh”.

“Go on, Tadashi-kun! Ask them questions!” Tadashi doesn’t really want to ask them about anything other than what Hirabayashi probably can’t know. He doubts the caregiver will take kindly to knowing she’s being mind-controlled. A part of him doubts she’ll even react at all.

Instead, he asks things he’s at least mildly curious about. “Where are we going to live?”

Takemoto does not try to hide his thrill at Tadashi’s sudden, if not feigned, enthusiasm. “In Torono, uh, a few hours from Sendai. You won’t mind the drive, will you?”

He sounds apologetic, so Tadashi just nods. “Will I have siblings?”

“Yes,” the man beams. Tadashi’s nervousness grows. If they’re anything like the boys in the orphanage, he doesn’t know if he prefers adoption after all.

“Pets?”

“Um,” Takemoto sends a look to his wife. She shrugs back.

“Yes,” he answers.

“What pets?”

“Depends.” Tadashi raises an eyebrow. What kind of answer was that?

“Do you have a garden?”

“Yes. It’s a big garden,” the man sings, as if he knows this fact alone enlivens Tadashi. He’s right. Tadashi fights a smile. His fingers involuntarily twitch, and the ficus in the corner of the room jerks slightly.

Takemoto smiles like he notices it.

Tadashi’s questions are random but reasonable. He asks Takemoto how many cars they have (just one). He asks if they’re rich (not really). He asks what they do for work (Takemoto is a teacher, his wife a doctor).

He doesn’t ask Takemoto what his abnormal ability is, if he even has one. He doesn’t ask if Hirabayashi’s still being mind-controlled or if her current trance is just a side-effect. He doesn’t ask what they want with him or his weird plant powers.

“Why me?” Hirabayashi coos and awws, pitying his apparent insecurity, but Tadashi’s challenging tone is anything but timid.

“Because you’re a very special boy, Tadashi.”

 

* * *

  

Daichi is going to kill him. Koushi knows this.

He was worried for nothing, and now he sits in the back of Takeda’s car, bored out of his mind. It’s been approximately three hours since Kiyoko and Takeda had parked the car, and Koushi, who opted not to follow them, reevaluates his life choices.

If they find out he’s here, they’ll probably kill him before Daichi does. Bummer.

Koushi groans. He keeps his eyes trained on a crow flying in circles around the orphanage to provide some semblance of entertainment before he suddenly hears steps approach the car. He hurriedly locks the door nearest him. Yamaguchi tries to open it twice and frowns when it doesn’t budge. The crow flies nearer.

“Ah, I’m sorry about that. The car’s really old. You can get probably get in through this side.” Takeda’s voice is muddled by the glass. The car _is_ really old. Koushi eyes the peeling brown leather through his legs. It’s probably older than he is.

Yamaguchi sits beside him on the other side of the car and clutches his bag to his chest, fingers fidgeting with the straps. He’d only brought a small backpack with him, and it doesn’t even look full.

Koushi frowns, and doesn’t notice when something comes flying directly at him.

“Ow!” A sharp pain makes him forget he’s supposed to be discreet, and he hastens to stifle his noise with the back of his hand. A coat haphazardly lays on his body, over his shoulders and chest, and he knows what it looks like. He moves the sleeve a little, hoping it just appears like it landed awkwardly on the chair.

“Tadashi! I’m so sorry, are you hurt?” Yamaguchi doesn’t answer the teacher, just stares at Koushi – at the coat, really – wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Takeda turns to look at Tadashi from the driver’s seat, and follows his gaze to the piece of clothing he had tossed to the backseat a few moments before.

“Suga.” Koushi doesn’t dare respond. He holds his breath and hopes Yamaguchi will _stop staring at him._

“Sugawara, my coat is floating in mid-air.”

Sighing, Koushi picks up the piece of clothing and sets it on his lap. The coat seems to hover a few inches in the air.

“What am I going to do with you boys?”

“Shower us with love and affection?”

"Put the coat on so Tadashi can see you. Or, well, you know what I mean." Koushi does just that. Takeda pulls his seatbelt over his body and turns the key in the ignition, and the car starts with an unpleasant hum.

“Sugawara,” Kiyoko’s voice cuts through from her seat beside Takeda. “Who’s with the kids right now?”

“Daichi and Ennoshita have it covered, I swear!”

“Daichi was at work when we left.”

“He’ll be back soon! He left Ennoshita in charge, anyway,” Koushi grumbles. This, at least, is true, though unfortunately and wrongly so. _He_ was the oldest, ergo the most responsible. He’s the senior here, Daichi!

“Besides, we just wanted to meet the new kid! He would have been scared out of his mind if it were just you two bringing him over. See?”

Yamaguchi, bless him, is still looking at the coat like it’s going to breathe fire and burn them all alive.

“I think he’s more scared of you than of us, Sugawara,” Kiyoko deadpans. He flinches because she’s undoubtedly right, but it’s not like anyone can see him, so he huffs anyway.

“He’s not! Watch. Hi, Yamaguchi.” Koushi waves. The coat sleeve swishes pathetically in the air.

“Y-you’re invisible.” Yamaguchi’s hands are raised, and they shake as if he’s not sure whether he wants to touch Koushi, protect himself, or open the car door and make a run for it.

Koushi high fives him, and Yamaguchi swiftly pulls his hands to his sides. “Good guess. Though I could just be really, really tiny.”

“He’s invisible,” Kiyoko confirms.

“I’m Sugawara Koushi, but most people just call me Suga.” He holds out his hand, and Yamaguchi feels for it in the air before finally finding it. Koushi shakes his hand. “Are you really an Elemental?”

“A what?”

“Oh, right. Elementals are able to manipulate different –“

“Sugawara, you said we,” Kiyoko interrupts, and they turn their heads in her direction.

“P-pardon?”

“Earlier, you said ‘ _we_ just wanted to meet Yamaguchi’. We, plural.”

Damn. Of course she’d catch that, and of course Koushi was too distracted to realize his words sooner. “Oh, did I? Must have been a slip of the tongue, that –“

A loud crash on the roof of the car startles everyone except Kiyoko. Koushi winces when he hears the whine of a crow above them.

“I swear to god.”

“Sugawara, let him in, please,” Kiyoko says, voice flat but obviously pleased with herself. Koushi would know, he’s been the recipient of that tone for _years_. “Ah, Yamaguchi-kun, could you scoot a little closer to the door?”

When Yamaguchi all but attaches himself to the side of the car, Koushi cranks the lever – the car was _that_ old – for his side’s window. As soon as he does, the crow swoops in and alights on the middle space of the backseat. He caws and darts around in the tiny area he’s been allowed, and stops randomly flitting only to edge closer to Yamaguchi, who stares at him with eyebrows raised apprehensively.

“This is the tomato guy?" The crow says, voice undeniably human, and Koushi watches all the color drain from Yamaguchi’s face as he gasps.

“T-tomato guy?”

"You know, the guy who made those kickass tomatoes!"

"Uh, I guess." Yamaguchi grips his bag like it’s a life jacket and the boat’s just hit an iceberg. The bird gives up standing on his legs to flutter a little in his space, and it does nothing but exacerbate the situation. The kid looks like he’s going to puke.

"Man, that's so cool! You must be pretty powerful, too, to get them to taste like - _ow_." Koushi smacks him hard on his tiny bird head. His flying falters for a second, and he settles on his seat once more.

"You're overwhelming him. Maybe change back first." Koushi doesn’t really want Yamaguchi to puke all over the car, not when they still had four hours of travel to get through.

“He’s right, Tanaka. Yamaguchi-kun looks stressed out,” Kiyoko pipes in.

Tanaka’s wings flutter at the sound of her voice. “Anything for you, Kiyoko-san!”

Koushi realizes too late - “Wait, not in the car!”

“Kiyoko, don’t let him get in front!” Takeda yells, gripping the steering wheel as he hastens to slow down the car. Kiyoko quickly shoves both her arms in between the headrest of her seat and Takeda’s.

Tanaka takes a few steps back before he launches himself into the air. His dark feathers shrink into his skin as his wings beat against his body, revealing the tan underneath. His wings curl and contract into themselves as they form imperfect cylinders. The arms, legs, fingers that arise from his wings and bird feet elongate, and he stretches them out in the very, very limited space of the backseat. His right foot kicks Yamaguchi in the shin, and the other boy immediately moves back as much as he can. His left arm hooks Koushi right under his chin, earning him a loud howl.

“Was that your arm? Sorry!”

“That was _my face._ ”

The fowl’s beak and eyes morph into more familiar human features: a mouth, eyelashes, a nose. He hits his head against Kiyoko’s outstretched arms before Tanaka the Human ends up sprawled across the backseat, both legs piled on Yamaguchi’s lap and his head planted on Koushi’s chest.

“I’ve been _practicing_ , Suga-san,” Tanaka says to the coat next to him. He sits up and sinks into the suddenly too-small chair with a long, happy sigh. Koushi can’t help but feel more than a little proud that the animorph had managed to fully transform in such a small space, but Koushi’s supposed to be the responsible one here.

“I’m not going to encourage something that horribly reckless.”

“He’s right. You could have gotten seriously hurt,” Takeda assists.

“Sorry, Take-chan,” Tanaka replies, sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck and stares at the floor. “I guess I got a little carried away.” He offers the teacher a small smile.

“W-what’s going on?” Following the chaos, the sound of Yamaguchi’s voice reminds everyone he’s still there. Koushi’s heart clenches when he catches the croak in his voice. _This is all too much for him._

"What's the matter, freckles? Intimidated by your sen-? Oh no." Tanaka trails off when he seems to realize the same thing. Small tears pool in the corner of Yamaguchi’s reddening eyes. The boy struggles to control his breathing, or at least slow it down. He wipes the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand when he fails to keep them from falling.

“Why can she control minds? And why are you invisible? And how did you… _how_?” Koushi prepares the speech in his mind, about how he shouldn’t be scared, that they’d help him, that they were just like him, that they were friends. But when he opens his mouth to speak, Tanaka beats him to it.

“Hey, don’t act like you aren’t a freak of nature, too!” He winces. Tanaka means well, but oftentimes his means of encouragement aren’t for everyone. Not a lot of people appreciate being called a freak.

“Tanaka…” Koushi starts, but Tanaka doesn’t seem to hear him.

“I watched you move an _entire tree_. That’s so cool!”

To Koushi’s surprise, Yamaguchi’s breathing calms down. He lets out a long, deep exhale. “It was just a branch.”

“And I can’t control minds,” interjects Kiyoko.

“You can kinda control minds, Shimizu.”

Koushi is largely ignored. “I’m a kind of empath, Yamaguchi-kun.”

“An empath?”

Kiyoko nods. “As an empath, I can feel exactly what other people feel. I can understand their current emotions, and replicate them if I want to.”

“What did you do to Hirabayashi-sensei, then?”

She hums. “So that’s why you think I’m a mind-controller. I see now.”

“I don’t have super hearing, if that’s what you think,” Yamaguchi quips, cheeks now entirely dry.

“Very few empaths can manipulate the emotions of others, depending on how strong or weak both the empath and the recipient are. I tapped into Hirabayashi-san’s emotions and found a link between a relaxed mood and general agreement, so I made her feel more… mellow.” Kiyoko raises her head to meet Yamaguchi’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“But I’ve only been an empath for a year, and I just started practicing emotion manipulation a month ago, so it wasn’t that strong of an attack,” she continues.

Besides Daichi, Koushi has known Kiyoko the longest, has known her ever since she was four and a Three. Even then she was incredibly headstrong, extremely hardworking, and at times irritatingly responsible. Her natural talent had only aided in enhancing her abilities, and she had become a Five the day of her eighteenth birthday. Only a handful of people knew how powerful she really was, even as a new empath.

“ _That_ wasn’t strong?” Koushi wonders what exactly Kiyoko had done to incur Yamaguchi's confusion.

“Truthfully, it’s never worked that well before, Yamaguchi-kun. We didn’t really expect it to work.” Koushi wouldn’t have either. Kiyoko had told him manipulation was apparently a skill only a small number of empaths were naturally blessed with, and a difficult ability to master completely.

What is unspoken hangs in the air. _It worked because she was weak-willed._ Yamaguchi looks like he doesn’t want to believe it. Kiyoko had been practicing on Anomalies. She had practiced on Koushi once, and it didn’t work for a second. Humans without abilities, however, are naturally weak, in any aspect.

“If it didn’t work, we would have come back later,” Tanaka reassures. He winks at Yamaguchi, and the other gives a weak smile back.

“Oh, and our names aren’t really Takemoto.”

 

* * *

 

Four hours, one lunch break, and three gas station stops later, Yamaguchi and Tanaka finally doze on each other, the former drooling on his senior’s shoulder. Koushi thinks they look kind of cute. He tries to get Kiyoko’s attention in the rear-view mirror, but she’s sleeping as well. He sighs. He’s never been able to sleep during travel, and after hours of listening to Tanaka converse with Yamaguchi about Karasuno with a loud voice and long, expressive arms, he feels like he needs at least a power nap.

"Why are you really here, Sugawara?" Takeda pulls him from his reverie. Koushi turns his head toward him and watches him drive in the dark night, his eyes trained on the road. They look like they’re about thirty minutes away, if the trees and ferns the car’s headlights illuminate are any indication.

“I told you, sensei,” he says, hoping he’ll drop the subject. “We really wanted to meet Yamaguchi.”

“I don’t doubt you did. But there’s something else, isn’t there? Or you wouldn’t have brought Tanaka with you.” He’s right, of course. Koushi wouldn’t have brought Tanaka outside the border if he wasn’t the only other person who could hide himself, not when it was so much safer back at the house.

He sighs. "Someone else went missing in Tokyo. Kuroo called yesterday." The call had come when Daichi was at work, so he’d talked to Koushi instead. When he’d told his friend what Kuroo had said that night, Daichi had pursed his lips and checked every switch and generator thrice.

"Who?"

"I don't remember her name. She's a pyro, Seven."

" _Seven_ ," he breathes out. "What else did Kuroo say?"

"That she was popular." Koushi doesn’t tell him that she was a famous Champion Kuroo routinely bet on in the underground arenas, and that the dark-haired boy sounded more disappointed he’d technically forfeited the upcoming tournament than scared they’d all be next.

"Sensei, you know we appreciate everything you do, but -" They need an augmentator. They’ve needed one for a while, actually, but Karasuno wasn’t a powerhouse Power House, at least not anymore, and no one was willing to train a bunch of no-name super kids for free.

"I know. I know, Koushi." Takeda sighs. A wave of guilt washes over him. They’ve been trying to help in any way they could, but being the only person older than twenty-five must have taken a toll on Takeda by now. The teacher continues, “I’ve been calling –“

Just then, the moon shines on a figure flying toward the windshield, and Koushi’s heart beats hard against his chest as he screams.

_"Look out!"_

His yelling wakes everyone up as the body careens into the window and sends glass flying into the car. Bloody and most likely lifeless, it lands on Kiyoko’s lap, and she shoves it away from her before pushing open the car door.

"Sensei, go take Yamaguchi!" She runs out. Koushi gets out of the car and bolts to her side. A few feet ahead of them, a girl hovers one feet above the ground as a tall, dark-haired man holds her up by her neck. She struggles against his grip, but he tightens it every time she squirms.

Koushi sees Tanaka run to them in the corner of his eye, but the three of them go unnoticed, even as Takeda’s car provides a bright beacon of light in the darkness.

“Where is he?” The man demands.

“Suga,” Kiyoko whispers. He taps her arm once to let her know he understands before quietly treading to the two figures. The voices increase in volume as he nears.

“I-I don’t know! Please let me go!” The girl tries to pull off the man’s hand, but she only weakens as her efforts prove futile. Her legs swing helplessly in the air. Koushi stops three feet away from the girl, by the wrecked, overturned car she must have driven in with her newly-deceased presumable friend. He bites his lip to keep from swearing when he accidentally steps on a glass fragment on the ground.

“You’re _lying_!”

"Let go of her,” Kiyoko’s manipulation voice rings clearly in the dark, underlain with a chilling, commanding tone. Koushi looks back and doesn’t see Tanaka beside her. “You don't want to hurt us. You're tired. We are your friends." For all her bravery and skill, her voice quivers once, and the man laughs upon hearing it.

"I can guard myself against a run of the mill empath, thanks."

When she takes out her gun, the man only laughs louder. The girl falls to the ground when he lets go of her. Her screams, in more distress than before, startle Koushi.

"No, stop! Stop!"

"Suga, the girl!" He picks her up and tries to take her to the car. Other than trying in vain to swat his hand away, she doesn’t seem fazed to be carried by an invisible man. He runs back to the car and shoves the girl behind it, into the dense forest.

“Whoever you are, stop her! He’s a –" The word is muffled by the sound of a gunshot, but Koushi hears it loud and clear.

“Kiyoko, duck!”

She hears him both too late and just in time. The bullet she fires changes course. Meant for her heart, it burrows into her left shoulder.

Koushi’s chest constricts. “No!”

"Kiyoko-san!" The tiger pounces on the magnetopath and digs his teeth into the latter’s shoulder. The man howls in pain and raises his hand. From beside Koushi, the car door abruptly severs from the car and slams into Tanaka’s body. He changes form every two seconds, unable to control his ability as he writhes in pain.

Koushi doesn’t think. He grabs a shard of glass from the ground and charges.

Thick branches reach out and curl around the magnetopath’s arms and legs just as the car door rises a third time. The man thrashes ten feet in the air as the branches tighten around his limbs.

“It’s not going to hold him for long!” Yamaguchi runs to them, Kiyoko and Takeda right behind him. “We have to get out of here!”

"Get on!" The horse stops in front of them, limping.

“Wait! The girl!”

“Hurry!” Koushi bolts back to get her. She hides, quivering behind a tree, but doesn’t protest when he lifts her up. He hoists her up onto Tanaka and lifts himself up behind her.

“Go!”

"We're only a few miles from the house! I can get us there!"

"No!” Fear and desperation laces Takeda’s voice. “He can’t know our location!”

"We don't have a choice! Suga, yell for Kageyama! Kiyoko, call Hitoka!" He forgoes the road to enter the forest.

Koushi calls for Kageyama as loudly as he can and hopes it’s enough.

"Hitoka, a magnetopath is following us to the house! We need help a few miles south! Hurry!" he hears Kiyoko shout into her phone, as he yells for Kageyama a second time. A faint dirt path begins to appear from under them.

"Just a little more!"

Koushi sucks in a breath when he looks behind him and spots a light in the distance. The magnetopath was hurtling toward them on a hunk of metal. "Sensei, he's using your car!"

Tanaka’s pace increases. Koushi tightens his legs around the horse’s body to keep himself from falling when he notices something else flying directly at them.

"Duck!" He’s too late; the car door slams against Tanaka’s behind and sends them flying toward the trees. Koushi's back slams against a trunk. He forces himself to stand up and hastily scan the trees for the girl. He finds her a few feet away from him, concealed by a shrub. Yamaguchi lies about a meter away; the teenager summons a branch to help him stand. He sees Kiyoko, Takeda, and Tanaka unconsciously lying on top of each other amongst the ferns, Tanaka back in human form.

"Give me the girl. He _needs_ her." The magnetopath’s voice keeps Koushi’s eyes from fluttering closed. His eyes follow the car door as it picks itself up from the ground and rams into Yamaguchi, pinning him down as the magnetopath walks closer.

"H-he?" Yamaguchi says, through labored breaths.

"My master." The edge of the car door starts to push down on his neck. Koushi tries to run to him, but is ten steps away from the teenager when his feet fail him and his knees fall to the green. His crash makes a sudden rustling sound in the otherwise quiet forest. The noise startles the magnetopath, and he stops forcing the car against Yamaguchi’s body.

Koushi tries to stand up again, but the magnetopath’s sharp yell surprises him and he falls a second time. When Koushi looks up, the magnetopath’s body is glued to the ground by a thick layer of ice, and three of his friends are crowded around him. One of them stands over the immobilized man, his arms raised and composed entirely of copper.

"Daichi,” Koushi breathes out. He drags himself toward Yamaguchi and helps him lift the door from his body. The teenager realizes the aid when Koushi grabs his hand to help him up. “Daichi!” he yells, “we’re over here! By the car door!”

"Grab them,” Daichi says to his two companions. “Get away from here." Without Daichi, they run to Koushi and Yamaguchi. Tsukishima hoists Yamaguchi up over his shoulder without any gentleness, which earns a hoarse cry of pain from the latter. Ferns suddenly shoot up from around them and constrict Tsukishima’s legs. _They’re thorned_ , Koushi realizes in horror, and blood starts to appear in small dots on Tsukishima’s lower limbs.

"The fuck? Is he doing this?" Tsukishima tries to kick them away, but they hold on tighter. Koushi hears Asahi gag behind him.

“Be gentle!” Koushi yells, exasperated. “His ribs are probably broken!”

Tsukishima grunts, but both in annoyance and understanding, Koushi thinks. “I’m going to cool his chest.” He gingerly presses a hand on Yamaguchi’s back, and Koushi is relieved to hear the other teenager sigh.

He taps Asahi’s shoulder to announce himself. “Kiyoko, Takeda, and Tanaka are back there,” he picks up his friend’s arm and points, “and there’s a girl…” He tries to show Asahi where he was earlier, but he ends up pointing at an unimpressive shrub.

“Uh, Suga?” Asahi asks carefully, as Koushi guides his hand toward nothing.

Koushi sighs. She must have hidden somewhere else during the chaos. “Nevermind, I’ll get her. You go ahead.”

He watches Tsukishima and Asahi run farther into the dirt road, the latter picking up their other friends before leaving. He walks back to where the magnetopath and Daichi are, careful not to make a sound.

"I’ll ask you one more time. Who are you working for?” Daichi’s hand squeezes the magnetopath’s face, and Koushi would have thought it funny if the latter weren’t so close to killing them all earlier. And if their almost-killer didn’t look so young.

“You can’t stop us, Mimic.” The magnetopath smiles as best as he can with Daichi’s fingers on his face. It isn’t a pretty sight, especially with that bowl cut.

Another man abruptly appears right beside Koushi, his hair bright red and spiked in every direction. He holds up the girl they had saved earlier over his shoulder. Koushi’s so close he can feel his breathing, and he holds his breath so the other man can’t do the same.

The man vanishes into thin air.

"Daichi, let him go!" Startled, Daichi drops the magnetopath’s face the same instant the phase jumper reappears in front of him.

"We'll be going now." He places a hand on the magnetopath’s head, and they both promptly disappear.

For a while, Koushi and Daichi both just stare at the patch of ground the teleporter had stood on, the latter still straddling a heap of ice.

"Suga? Where are you?" Daichi calls out, still staring.

"Ah, wait,” he jogs to Daichi and takes one copper hand in his own. “I'm here."

Daichi peels his gaze from the ground and shifts his head to the trees, the scenery drenched in black save for the soft glow of the moon and harsh shine from Takeda’s headlights. He feels around Koushi’s hand and ends up rubbing his thumb against Koushi’s knuckles. "What did he look like?"

"Maybe a Seven? I can't tell for sure though." The Mimic hums in reply, squeezing his friend’s hand. Koushi’s suddenly very, very glad his fucked up genes don’t encode for body heat. He pulls on Daichi’s hand to get him to stand up. Unfortunately, though, copper arms are much heavier than regular, carbon-based human arms.

“Uh, could you change back?”

“Oh. Oh, right. Sorry.” He lets go of Koushi’s hand to shift back into his normal skin, and Koushi slips his hand back in Daichi’s as soon as it’s completely changed.

"And the one with the red hair?" Daichi says, as he tugs on Koushi’s hand to pull himself up.

"Literally appeared out of nowhere, right next to me. I think he might be a phase jumper."

"Jesus.” He furrows his brows, and Koushi tries his hardest to look away. “Thanks for telling me in time." They walk in comfortable silence, hand in hand, until the headlights of Takeda’s wrecked car fail to light the dirt road and the moon vanishes above the thick trees. They depend on muscle memory then, even as the road disappears and their feet get tangled in the ferns. They find the Gate a few minutes later. The rectangle, completely transparent save for the erratic flickering on its four corners, beckons to them, welcoming them home as they walk through it.

Home is a large, shabby house in the middle of a sunken meadow, as it has always been to Koushi. The lights in Karasuno House glow dimly in the darkness, dousing the grass in warm yellow. He watches his empty footsteps make temporary indents in the ground as Daichi drags him forward.

Koushi stops walking. Daichi realizes when his hand is pulled back, and he turns back to look at the space he thinks is his friend. He’s off by at least five inches.

“The magnetopath killed someone. And the girl they took… he said _he_ wanted her. Daichi, do you think they’re…?” Related to the Tokyo disappearances. They must be. Anomaly-instigated crime in the Miyagi prefecture is rare, crime _against_ Anomalies almost unheard of.

“I don’t know. I’ll call Kuroo later, but… I don’t know.”

Koushi purses his lips, looking down at the old house he’s called home all these years. He thinks of Takeda taking him in after his parents had died, all silver hair and pale skin and random cases of invisibility. Asahi lifting a platinum Daichi for practice because they could never afford heavy barbels. His accident. Kiyoko’s countless attempts to heal him. Realizing they would never see Koushi again. Home has always been safe because they have always been strong.

“We’ll figure it out,” he tells his best friend, hoping he imagines a smile on Koushi’s face, and not the dread pooling in the pit of his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -i really don't know how orphanages work in japan. [this blog post](http://sopheliajapan.blogspot.com/2013/07/howtoadoptinjapan.html#.WVy6odOGOgA) was very helpful in my research  
> -i've read a lot however that "adult adoptions" are actually a lot more common in japan than regular child adoptions, and that's because families usually look for someone to inherit the name or to take over the family business (thus yamaguchi thinking about working at a convenience store)  
> -yes goshiki is the magnetopath  
> -[cat poster inspiration](http://www.petadoptionnetwork.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/Foster-home-poster.jpg)
> 
> PRINCIPLE BEHIND DAICHI'S ARMS:  
> in this chapter, daichi's arms are made up of copper, which are very weakly magnetic, so the magnetopath couldn't just toss him away or something. however, due to the lenz effect, copper isn't completely unaffected by magnets, technically. when a magnet interacts with copper, a current is generated, and a magnetic field is created through that current which opposes the field of the magnet. so the magnet actually encounters resistance - daichi is actually working really hard just to touch that guy! (i hope i explained lenz's law simply and accurately. please correct me if otherwise!)
> 
> please comment your thoughts! my main concerns are that the characterization is poor, that the pacing is too slow, or that it's plain boring. i'd love to know what you think, whether it's good or bad.
> 
> plus, this first chapter serves as an interest check, so please please please please comment if you want to read more! thank you ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡
> 
>  
> 
> [my writing blog](http://www.wrino.tumblr.com)


	2. let sleeping cats lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i... i don't know how i feel about calling kuroo "tetsurou", honestly.
> 
> this chapter takes place on the same night as the last!

“Ladies and gentlemen! Hypernaturals and Divines!”

Tetsurou bounces on the edge of his seat, exhilaration rippling in the colossal arena and devouring his body in waves. The announcer’s voice – thunderous even without a microphone – thrashes against the walls and tugs on the audience’s ears. It’s met with jarring whoops, raised fists, and the occasional swear word.

“Mimics and Morphs! Elementals and Masters!”

The lights overhead hang by steel threads; they tremble with every shriek, yet they do not crash to pieces on the ground. Tetsurou cups his hands around his mouth and lets out a roar of his own. He accidentally jostles the boy next to him, and the latter acknowledges the interruption with a hiss. Or, at least, it sounded like one. Hearing inhibited by the crowd’s clamor, Tetsurou can’t exactly tell apart jeer from joy. He raises an eyebrow at his friend, who sighs tiredly.

Short, impatient knocks ring against the recesses of his mind then. _Come in, Kenma,_ he thinks, and the gates open without contention. He feels Kenma gently pull at his thoughts, and Tetsurou draws him in.

 _You ruined my game_ , Kenma projects, thoughts echoing in Tetsurou’s head like they’re his own. Kenma raises the console toward him, and Tetsurou can just make out _GAME OVER_ at the top of the screen.

 _Sorry,_ he thinks back. _Excited._

“Anomalies!” He jerks his head toward the announcer, who stands in the very middle of the arena atop a high platform seemingly sculpted from the ground. The smile that overtakes Tetsurou’s face is instant. He doesn’t notice his left leg fidgeting until Kenma stills it with his hand and a weary glare.

_I see that._

_It’s starting!_

“Welcome to the Underdome!”

Tetsurou joins the cacophony of cheers with the most insightful “Yeah! Whoo!” he can muster. Kenma hovers in his head, but outwardly withdraws into his video game, leaning into Tetsurou’s side as he restarts the level.

“Tonight, this tenth of May, two thousand and eighteen, we all have the absolute pleasure to witness one of the most anticipated matches of the month. From the depths of Japan, in the largest arena of our beloved Lower Tokyo – brothers and sisters, it’s _time_ -” The host sharply sucks in a breath.

“For tonight’s _Brawl of Champions_!”

The floor quakes underneath them as the crowd swells its chaos. Years ago, when he was allowed in the Underdome for the first time, he’d been scared of the arena’s convulsions, terrified that the ceiling above them would give way to the mayhem underneath, and the entire underground city would be reduced to nothing but a literal pile of dirt.

That was until a year later, when Kenma turned old enough to legally set foot in the arenas, and Tetsurou dragged him in the night after his birthday to watch a random match. Kenma had pointed at a far wall and asked him why there were people behind it. _Special effects guys?_ Yaku had speculated when they told him later. _To hype up the audience._

It works. Every fight has always left him simultaneously buzzed and winded afterward, as if he were the Champion in the stadium just moments before. Other Anomalies all over Japan are just as – if not more – obsessed with the Underdome’s fights as he is, addicted to the thrill of watching the strong duke it out to the sometimes-death. Seats sell out weeks in advance, and they wouldn’t have gotten in at such short notice this time if not for the favor Koutarou owed him.

The arena steadies as the announcer prattles through the Underdome’s sponsorships and advertisements, eager to get to the main event but required to enumerate about fifty companies and their insipid slogans. The commotion in the stands diminishes slightly, as the audience members lose interest in the host and chatter among themselves.

Tetsurou likes the rush of adrenaline, sure. He enjoys the total immersion the fights promise and provide, adores going out to dinner with Kenma later, even more-than-tolerates the exasperated scolding he gets from Yaku when the technopath finds out they watched a match “again”.

But more than that, he absolutely loves the quick buck.

The first yen he’d placed on a Champion was months after he had come of age. The salary and allowance he was receiving from Nekoma was more than enough for basic survival, but couldn’t get him, say, the secondhand Chemistry textbook he wanted that week, or decent spare parts for the hoverboard Inuoka asked for for his fifteenth birthday. Unless he wanted to skip a few meals, that is, which Tetsurou, on principle, could _not_ do.

Gambling is a gray area in the laws of Anomalous Japan, especially when it comes to Brawls. Betting on Champions is _technically_ illegal, but most officials turn a blind eye to it and regard on it the same level of offense as littering. Daishou, much more adept at all things illicit and dastardly, had been happy to introduce him to the practice when Tetsurou had asked, days after hearing about it through the filthy grapevine that ran through their side of Lower Tokyo.

“And now, let’s meet our contenders!” _Here we go,_ he thinks. Kenma sighs in his head.

 _Should’ve brought your headphones,_ Tetsurou scolds him, half-joking.

 _Would’ve had the time of my life,_ Kenma deadpans.

“Officially weighing in at one hundred and twenty kilograms in human form! Record: fifty-four fights, fifty-one victories including two deaths with three losses and zero draws. Tier _Eight_. Hailing from House Ubugawa, with Elder Hasegawa-sensei; _Jigsaw_!”

A gate barricading a hole at the very east of the round arena slowly lifts up to reveal the towering man behind it. Goura walks out with heavy, assured steps and seems to smile wickedly at every individual member of the audience at the same time. He flexes his arms and legs as the crowd chants his name before letting out a roar that is anything but human.

The ceiling above the fighting court erupts in bursts of color. “Please remember that interference is _completely forbidden_ during matches,” the announcer berates.

As expected, no one heeds him. Someone on the opposite side of the stadium boos and stands to gather a tiny fireball in her fist. She launches it towards Jigsaw, only to have the fire fizzle out on the invisible force field surrounding the fighting court. She tries again, more to revel in the high than to actually burn anything, Tetsurou suspects. An aisle away from him and Kenma, an old man maneuvers a smallish storm cloud above the field and laughs maniacally as drops of rain trickle over the fielded dome. It disrupts their view, and Tetsurou’s about to tell him off when the elder’s eyes glaze over and he promptly sits down. The cloud dissipates.

Tetsurou spies a young man behind the rowdy Elemental, glaring daggers at his senior. Tetsurou gulps. What the fuck, man.

“And now, officially weighing in at sixty kilograms in human form -”

Of course, Tetsurou doesn’t always win when he bets. There are nights he comes home with much less than what he left with, but he wagers small enough amounts for him to feel terrific after fights he wins, and not horribly inconvenienced on the rare nights he doesn’t. He is careful, prudent in ways few people expect him to be. In a fair fight, no one really knows who’ll triumph.

But tonight is different.

“In his debut match!”

He’s coming home with fifty thousand yen tonight.

“Hailing from House Shiratorizawa, with Elder Washijou-sensei…”

 _They’re going to rig it_ , he remembers Kenma telling him a few nights ago. _I overheard Goura’s wife thinking about it while we were out parts shopping. Goura’s going to retire next month, so no one really minds if Jigsaw has one last loss, especially if it’s to a member of Shiratorizawa._ A graceful exit to end an era, she said, apparently. But it’s probably just because Shiratorizawa’s going to pay their weight in gold. And Goura’s at least five hundred kilos as a full alligator.

“The challenger, _Filch!_ ”

 _Filch?_ Kenma asks him, but Tetsurou’s never heard that word before, either – not even in the few English novels he owns.

Opposite Goura, the gate on the western side rises. Behind it, a young man with light brown hair slowly walks toward the audience, head held up high as he strides. Unlike Jigsaw, Filch does not smile, does not even acknowledge the audience with a nod. His gaze is fixed on his opponent, his eyes the personification of hate. Charmer.

“This will be a thirty-minute, white flag match. If neither party yields at the thirty-minute mark, our esteemed panel of judges will determine the winner either by unanimous or split decision. If one party is unable to compete either by disadvantageous impairment or death, the other party will be named the victor even without a formal surrender,” the announcer details. His dirt stage lowers. When the platform finally goes back into the ground, the announcer brings his arms up by his side.

To his left: “Jigsaw, are you ready?”

“Yes,” Goura growls. Quite literally.

To his right: “Filch, are you ready?”

Filch nods.

“Let the Brawl begin!” The announcer runs to the back of the court and into the hole the rock there suddenly unveils.

Jigsaw shifts. His whole body glows as it morphs into a mix of inhuman shapes, and each part transforms itself into that of a different animal. The hairs on his torso and arms grow at an alarming rate and turn darker than the rest of his body; his hands match the shade, expanding as it darkens. Blond fur sprouts and replaces the hair on his legs, and black spots arise amidst the pale hair. He falls onto his arms when the cheetah’s hind legs stop supporting his weight.

The only part that remains remotely humanoid is Goura’s face, save for his eyes – its color changes from a dull dark brown into a warmer amber, and its pupils dilate intro triple their previous size. Gorilla, cheetah, hawk. It definitely isn’t the most flamboyant combination Tetsurou has seen on him. It’s probably one of the more lackluster fusions he’s done, actually.

As if he can read Tetsurou’s mind, Filch sneers against his adversary. “Fight me _properly_ , brute!”

Filch’s entire body seems to erupt in green flames then. He raises his arms high above his head, and bright green fireballs launch into the air and dance around him in circles. They inflate with every rotation. The sight makes Filch look wicked. Evil.

Despite this, Tetsurou groans. _Another_ pyro? No wonder Shiratorizawa needed the help. Pyrokinetics were exceedingly common in the Underdome matches, even before Blaze disappeared, so only the most powerful and unusual could ever hope to build an interesting career in the Brawls. Even pyros with _green_ fire could flop in this industry. Even _Shiratorizawa_ pyros.

Unsurprisingly, some people in the audience share his sentiments; most of the Elementals take the opportunity to showcase their abilities even more as they heckle – water and fire and even a few rocks whip against the force field. Some spectators with quieter powers make up for it with hideous wails. Tetsurou feels kind of bad for Filch. The little guy’s got to step up his game. Get a little crazy.

The fireballs suddenly drop to the floor and elongate into long bodies. The fire _hisses_ , and it is only as the cylinders slither that Tetsurou figures out that Filch has created, for lack of a better word, _fire snakes._

Damn. Maybe he _can_ hear Tetsurou’s mind.

 _No, he can’t_. Oh. Okay. Thanks, Kenma.

The fire snakes glide towards Jigsaw and wrap around his legs, but their victim slaps the flames away with his hands effortlessly. Goura simpers. He reaches Filch in an instant, and he lifts his opponent up by his neck only to slam him on the floor. The crowd reacts with a sympathetic howl, as if they actually did care for the pyro’s well-being and didn’t want a good show.

Goura seems to remember he’s supposed to _lose_ , so when Filch unleashes the fire snakes once more, Jigsaw allows them to singe his arms before grabbing at his challenger again. Their dance seems to go on for eternities, neither side yielding an inch, except Tetsurou knows Jigsaw would’ve probably ended it by now if the match’s outcome weren’t already decided. Beads of sweat frame Filch’s face, but Goura doesn’t look the slightest bit tired. Filch is strong, sure, just like most Shiratorizawa Champions, but Goura is of a higher Tier and has more experience. That sort of disparity isn’t something easily bridged, even by fixed matches.

“Why don’t you change into something less boring!” Filch yells. He staggers across the ground to the other Champion, but green fire continues to twirl in the air around him. Emerald flames seem to tickle every corner of the court; they bathe the entire arena in their hue.

“Boy, if I changed even the nails on my fingers, you’d be done for.” Goura stands tall.

“So _end him already!_ ” someone in the crowd shrieks. Geez.

Then, Filch smirks.

He brings his hands together, and the morsels of flames about the arena fuse together into a giant, contained inferno. The mass grows with every introduced fireball until triple Jigsaw’s size; it towers above him before dropping to the ground and spinning on the floor.

The ball stretches and constricts, tearing itself up and uniting every passing split-second. When it stops, every individual in the arena gasps.

Even Goura. Because the resulting figure looks exactly like him.

 _Oh no_ , Kenma thinks. Tetsurou nudges him through his own thoughts.

Jigsaw bellows; eagle wings shoot up from his back. A point on his back grows thick scales and extends until it resembles a crocodile’s tail. A dark horn grows in the middle of his forehead and ends in a sharp tip. The creature growls, its every feature seeming to exude rage.

_Goura didn’t like that._

“That’s better.” Filch winks.

Goura springs up and flaps his wings against the air. He turns his back towards his challenger and beats his wings hard, hurling the wind toward his fire counterpart to strike the flames and send them scattering across the court floor. Fire Goura is reduced to little flickers of flame on the ground. Tetsurou turns his head towards Filch. Half of his clothes are scorched. The pyrokinetic’s face betrays utter shock.

 _Deal’s off._ Shit.

Jigsaw at once soars toward Filch and grabs his waist. Goura’s wings bring them far up, up, up at full tilt until the animorph’s head almost touches the top of the force field. He loosens his grip on Filch, and the latter crashes to the ground; a horrifying _crackcrackcrack_ reverberates around the stadium, each punctuated by Filch’s deafening howls of agony.

Goura pins Filch to the floor. The pyrokinetic tries to move, but every flame he generates Jigsaw extinguishes. All there is to do is forfeit.

Tetsurou’s in shock, but only half on account of the display of absolute prowess in front of him.

_Kenma, that was like, most of my life’s savings._

Kenma ignores him. When Tetsurou turns to look at the telepath, he’s treated to a rare sight: Kenma, hands over his ears, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. His PSP sits closed on his lap. Fascinated, Tetsurou watches him. He jumps when the telepath blinks.

_Oh._

_What?_

Slowly, Kenma brings down his palms from his ears and picks up his console. The video game’s music is faint against the deafening crowd, but Tetsurou hears it anyway. Below them, Filch sucks in a labored breath.

Tetsurou drops his gaze toward the court. Filch is smiling.

 _Kenma, what’s happening?_ he asks. Goura’s right leg digs firmly into Filch’s chest, and both his arms bolt the pyrokinetic’s shoulders to the ground. Slowly, Filch’s smile widens; Jigsaw falters slightly, but he grips even more tightly after.

“What’s going on?” Goura’s question bounces off the walls and back into the Champion’s own ears. The audience’s cheers and taunts are quieted at once, as confusion travels through the air and touches them all.

_I think I might know what ‘filch’ means._

“Is there a blackout or something?” Along with everyone else, Tetsurou gasps. Small green flames on the far sides of the court. Lights above them, lights between their feet, lights two feet away from Jigsaw. All very much illuminating.

Goura’s face contorts in sheer, unadulterated horror.

“What the fuck did you just do?”

 _Filch’s Secondary._ _Sense theft._

“I-I can’t see!” Jigsaw lets go of Filch then. His hands rub his eyes over and over as they change back into their human form. Ear-splitting howls pierce the otherwise silent arena and bear holes into the dirt walls.

Tetsurou can hear Kenma’s game clearly now. He just cleared a stage.

Goura gasps. His hands leave his eyes, and slowly, slowly come to rest on his ears.

“I can’t _hear_!”

At that, Filch wordlessly pushes the animorph off him. He stalks to the gate he entered in; it rises without complaint.           The crowd finally erupts in a flurry of cheers and applause, and Goura weeps in the very middle of the court.

“Holy shit,” Tetsurou says, out loud. “Holy shit.”

 

* * *

 

Tetsurou feels good. Tetsurou feels _great_. There’s a fat wad of cash in his back pocket. What’s not to love about life?

“Why do you need the money again?” Kenma asks him. The busy streets of Lower Tokyo are rowdy, but nowhere near as noisy as the interior of the Underdome. Kenma likes to stick to conventional means of conversation whenever possible, Tetsurou knows. And it wasn’t like anyone was going to pay them any attention, anyway.

“Stocks,” he lies. With Kenma literally out of his mind, it’s a lot easier to. A few feet away from them, an old man sits on the front steps of some random establishment. He sucks on his ring finger once. When he releases it, red smoke puffs out of his mouth in perfect rings. Tetsurou pinches his nose.

“Stocks?”

“Stocks.”

“I have no idea how those work.” Tetsurou doesn’t either.

“I read about it in a book.”

Kenma hums in reply. If he wanted to, he could pry Tetsurou’s head open and he wouldn’t realize it. Or mind, really.

But Kenma doesn’t. He always asks for permission if there isn’t an emergency, or at least, when it comes to his friends. _Telepathy isn’t that fun. I don’t want to know all your secrets_ , he’d told them.

“Ramen tonight?”

“Sure, I don’t mind.”

They walk in relative silence toward the only good – and incidentally, the only Natural – ramen spot they know. It’s a hole-in-the-wall joint, with eight seats uniformly lined in front of the long counter. There’s only one stool left at the farthest right of the stall, and Tetsurou ushers Kenma into it. Tetsurou yells for their usuals over the tumult of the city, and the owner acknowledges him with a grunt and a thumbs up.

Tetsurou leans against the counter, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The woman sitting beside Kenma carelessly shovels noodles into her mouth. She doesn’t have any arms, but her long, blonde hair utilizes the wooden chopsticks just fine. Around them, the vivid lights of Lower Tokyo glimmer against the dirt walls. Tetsurou pretends they’re stars in the night sky, but the dust clumsily falling from the high ceiling instantly ruins any such illusion.

“I’ve never seen an ability like that, before,” Kenma tells him.

“Like – ?” He trails off, gesturing toward the armless woman with his eyes.

Kenma shakes his head. “Well, I mean, yeah, but also Filch’s. Earlier.”

“The sense stealing or the pyrokinetics?”

“Both.”

“Me neither.”

The owner calls out to them then, and Tetsurou watches their bowls and chopsticks slowly hover toward them and land on the countertop. Almost salivating at the aroma, he picks up his chopsticks.

“Kuro.” He looks up from his bowl. Kenma’s staring at something behind Tetsurou.

“It’s a cat.”

“Yeah.” Tetsurou sets his chopsticks down before walking over to the orange feline and crouching down to stroke it. The cat purrs; it rubs its head against Tetsurou’s hand, evidently thankful for his kind attention.

“Come on,” Tetsurou tells Kenma. The telepath just stares at the cat as it traipses in crooked circles around Tetsurou.

“You know I’m not good with animals.”

Tetsurou can only kind of argue with that. “That’s… conditional. Here,” he says, picking the cat up and walking over to Kenma’s seat.

Kenma eagerly stretches out his arms. As soon as he does though, the cat screeches in Tetsurou’s hands. It jumps off and scampers away, leaving Kenma and Tetsurou to frown at the suddenly empty space between them.

Sudden music breaks the pause, then, and Tetsurou’s cellphone vibrates in the pocket of his hoodie. Kenma leans over to read the text on the screen just before Tetsurou brings the phone to his ear, grinning.

“Sawamura-kun! How’s Karasuno?” The ramen stall’s other customers drown out Sawamura’s reply and leave few words floating in the water. _Wait,_ Tetsurou mouths at Kenma, pointing towards the phone. He walks a short distance across the narrow street and stops in front of a quiet alleyway.

“Hey, sorry, it was really loud. What did you say?” he tries again.

“Takeda-sensei picked up someone new earlier. He’s a botano, but, uh, that’s not why I called,” Sawamura tells him, his voice low.

Tetsurou’s smile falls. “Did something happen?”

“We think the people that took that pyro in Tokyo last week were here earlier.” Sawamura’s voice is slightly garbled through the call, and Tetsurou strains a little to understand him.

“Pyro? You mean Blaze?”

“Is that her name? Yeah.”

“It’s her Champion name. What happened earlier?” Tetsurou leans against a wall. When he raises his head, he sees a ramen stall as large as his palm and a telepath the size of the nail on his pinky.

“A magnetopath and a phase jumper made off with someone – an Anomaly, too, we think – and killed her friend. They got away when we tried to stop them.” The woman beside Kenma leaves, and almost immediately her empty bowl rises in the air and floats toward the joint’s owner.

“In Miyagi? Holy shit. What Tiers?” Tetsurou lightly kicks until a pile of dust appears on the floor. The amount of filth on the streets usually indicated how near the underground city was to nighttime. Given that all the sky they see is a dark block of dirt, time was proportional to how much of that dirt sky had fallen to the ground before the Sweeps cleared it a few hours before real dawn – if you didn’t have a watch, obviously.

“Suga thinks the magnetopath’s a Seven. Sound familiar?”

_Kuro, emergency. Help help help._

Tetsurou’s head whips up. A fingernail-sized guy who looks to be about his age sits next to fingernail-sized Kenma on the chair previously occupied by the blonde woman. The stranger’s entire body is turned towards Kenma like he’s the most interesting thing in the world. He _is_ , usually, but now he’s also sitting on the very edge of his seat, clearly distressed.

“All Nekoma’s magnetopath contacts are either Fours or Fives. Wait, wait,” Tetsurou tells Sawamura, putting his phone in between an armpit.

Tetsurou shifts all his concentration to the stranger’s person and locates a cellphone on the guy’s back pocket. Tetsurou snaps his fingers, more for dramatic effect than anything else, and the stranger seems to jump ten feet in the air. His accompanying yelp is loud enough to be heard across the block. Tetsurou smirks. When Kenma turns to look at him, the stranger follows his gaze.

“Go away, asshole!” Tetsurou shouts at him.

He runs away.

 _Thanks_ , Tetsurou hears.

Remembering Sawamura, he brings his phone back to his ear. “Okay, go. Sorry. Don’t ask.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Sawamura clears his throat. “Things like that – like the kidnapping – don’t usually happen in Miyagi. Seijoh said they’d look into it, but… our whole House is shaken up. We don’t really know what to do.” He sighs.

Tetsurou’s frown deepens. “You don’t have an augmentator yet?”

“Takeda-sensei’s been trying to look for one, but we just… can’t afford anyone right now.”

“I’ll ask Nekomata-sensei if he knows any augmentators. And he might know some of the more powerful magnetopaths.”

“Thanks,” Sawamura breathes. Tetsurou can hear the relief through the practically-busted speakers of his cellphone, can hear it even from the network tower someone had managed to build underground.

“Hey, no problem. Of course.”

“Oh, and the magnetopath kind of… totaled Takeda-sensei’s car, do you think you can–”

“Unless you want that hunk of junk to turn into a hunk of junk that shoots bullets, no,” Tetsurou cuts him off.

“Was worth a shot,” Sawamura laughs. “I should go. Thanks again.”

“Tell Karasuno I said hello!” A click. Tetsurou’s just about to walk back to the ramen store when he realizes he’s alone.

 _Kenma, you in there?_ No response. Perfect.

Tetsurou dials the number so fast his phone almost drops from his fingers. The voice on the other line responds with undiluted zest.

“Kou! Hey, quick question. Ha!” Tetsurou snickers at the joke he hadn’t expected to make.

“How much was that PS Vita again?”

 

* * *

 

“Born a Five, worked to a Seven. Probably. He lifted a car,” Kiyoko says. The lights in the small infirmary are dimmer than usual, but maybe the two beaten, bloody bodies on the only two beds in the room just make everything look bleak. Kiyoko sits on one of the plastic chairs by the new guy’s – Yamaguchi’s, Hitoka remembers – bed. Hitoka stands over her, moving her hand deftly over Kiyoko’s left shoulder. Her fingertips glow faintly.

Hitoka pinpoints the bullet’s location when Kiyoko gasps at her tug. “Sorry, sorry. I found it.”

Of course, Kiyoko definitely could have healed herself, if she wanted to, but the second she woke up on Asahi’s shoulder, she’d apparently told him to take her to Hitoka, or so the Hypernatural had said. It was almost like a pop quiz for her, except instead of a poor final grade if she failed, she’d get a dead Tier Five healer. No pressure.

“What happened?”

“I pulled the trigger before I realized he was a magnetopath.”

Hitoka frowns. That was sort of dumb, especially for Kiyoko. “Oh, Kiyoko-san.”

The younger healer shuts her eyes, assessing the damage done as she waves a hand over Kiyoko’s body. On the bed, Yamaguchi moans. Hitoka pauses, holding out her palm toward the Elemental’s bed without opening her eyes. When she hears Yamaguchi sigh, Hitoka brings back her hand above Kiyoko.

“It fractured your collarbone. And – ” She examines Kiyoko’s scapula, her lungs, the rest of her chest. “That’s it,” she continues, opening her eyes.

“Lucky,” Kiyoko breathes, like she’d been holding her breath until then.

“ _And_ we’re magical healers. Double lucky!” A confusing blend of frustration and delight makes its way into Hitoka’s voice. It was easy to take some injuries for granted when they were so easily treated by their healing abilities, but a fractured clavicle wasn’t something as laughable in actual medicine, she knows. Plus, a few inches lower and even _they’d_ be in trouble.

Hitoka’s arm shakes as she pinches the air in front of Kiyoko’s wound. The split skin closes slowly, and, oh my god, what if she’d read wrong? What if the bullet had something else in it, like a tiny bomb? Kiyoko would explode and leave everyone a crying mess among her charred, indistinguishable remains. Hitoka would _never_ get her healer’s license then, and she’d have to be a _real_ doctor, which involved much more blood and actually _touching_ things, and –

“Magical,” Kiyoko repeats, her laughter shattering Hitoka’s unease like a bludgeon. The room’s a little hot, suddenly.

Hitoka stifles a cough. “You can probably find something in your body that’ll dissolve it completely after a few months, but for now, I left it in. You’ll seal the bones later, yeah?” Putting bones back together was a technique Hitoka probably wouldn’t achieve as a Three, and for now, her powers were restricted to diagnosis, treating wounds, sprains and a few other things.

“Yeah,” Kiyoko nods. “You’re getting better at this.”

Hitoka beams at the praise, stammering out a “thanks” when she realizes her lack of reply a few beats later. She laughs nervously. “I really wish there were less opportunities to show off, though.”

“I didn’t get hurt.”

“You literally had a bullet in your shoulder a few minutes ago.”

“It’s still there. And it doesn’t hurt.”

“You fractured your shoulder. Liar.” Despite herself, Hitoka smiles. If Kiyoko was this stubborn now, then it probably hurt a lot less than it did earlier. Pride swells deep in Hitoka’s chest. She did it.

“Thank you, Hitoka-chan,” Kiyoko says, standing up. She groans when she lets her left arm drop to her side, and Hitoka rushes to find a sling in one of the cabinets. She helps Kiyoko put one on. The grateful smile Kiyoko gives is every bit as alarmingly beautiful as everything else about her. Hitoka blushes. If she were any more skilled, she’d probably try to use her powers to get rid of the flush, but she isn’t, and she doesn’t feel like dying tonight because of her own incompetence – not when Kiyoko was smiling at her like that.

“I don’t see Takeda-sensei here.” Kiyoko’s voice snaps Hitoka out of her reverie. “He wasn’t hurt?”

Hitoka shakes her head. She’d done a quick analysis on Takeda earlier when he insisted nothing was wrong with him. Apart from bruises, a few shallow wounds, and a sprained ankle, which Hitoka had all healed easily, the only thing disturbing Takeda’s health was stress.

“And them?” Kiyoko gestures to Tanaka and Yamaguchi. Both sleep soundly on beds too small for their bodies.

“I stopped their bleeding and tried to heal as much as I could, but they both have a lot of broken bones. Tanaka probably shouldn’t change out of human form for a while, if he can even at all. And Yamaguchi’s ribs are…” she trails off, sighing.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Hitoka says, weakly. Kiyoko is going to exhaust herself; it’s inevitable with the amount of bones she has to seal tonight. Not for the first time, Hitoka wishes she’d started training sooner.

“You’re improving quickly,” Kiyoko assures her, as if reading Hitoka’s mind. She walks silently over to Yamaguchi, raising her glowing hands above his chest and massaging the air over it. Her fingers dance lightly against the empty space; her hands skillfully conduct an orchestra with Yamaguchi’s bones as instruments, fusing the cracks between them and performing seamless melodies.

Hitoka is nothing short of mesmerized. She’d heard that talented healers were as elegant as they were skilled, but Kiyoko’s graceful dexterity startled her every time, all the same. It’s the kind of healer Hitoka aspires to be.

“You’ll be a Four soon enough. And then a Five, and then a Six, and then a Seven, and then you’ll be able to cure a lot more than just a measly bullet wound and a few shattered bones,” Kiyoko tells her softly, almost joking.

Something tugs at Hitoka, then. Inexplicable, it weighs down on her chest, threatening to push her down deep into the earth.

Her grandmother died from cancer when Hitoka was seven. No one saw it coming; it announced itself by devastating everything in its path in an instant, the way huge tornadoes suddenly materialize after five eternities of tranquility. Hitoka remembers her mother’s thick sobs through the thin walls of their two-bedroom apartment and her father sweeping up the fragments of every vase his wife carelessly knocked down in her transparent misery. The shards pricked her father’s hands, unknowingly feeding the floor with small drops of crimson. Their apartments had always been small, but for months, it suffocated them. Hitoka found herself scrambling for air every morning.

Two months after her eighth birthday, her father filed for divorce.

She hadn’t known she was an Anomaly then. If she had, she might have been able to save her ailing grandmother. Or her father with the porcelain lodged in his fingers. Or her mother, so wracked with heartbreak she crashed into the clay pot Hitoka made her for Mother’s Day, sending it crashing to the tiled floor in sharp, unapologetic pieces.

“Kiyoko-san?”

“Hm?”

“You ever think about how so many illnesses of the Natural could be cured if they knew about Anomalies?”

“Of course,” Kiyoko sighs, her eyes trained on Yamaguchi.

“I can’t help thinking… If they depended on us, instead of normal medicine – well, actually, not just medicine. If we could help them, then…” she doesn’t finish the thought.

Kiyoko’s hands freeze over Yamaguchi’s body when Hitoka doesn’t continue. The older healer turns around, concerned eyes boring into Hitoka’s.

“Humans react differently to things they don’t know, but we’re all bound by the same fears,” she starts.

“Hitoka, if they found out about us, do you think their first thought would be about how we could piece back together, or about how we could just as easily lay waste to everything they’ve ever known? Everything they’ve ever worked for?”

She pauses. Outside, something clatters to the floor.

“If we knocked on their doors, would they welcome us in with open arms or with silver bullets?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading <3 feedback is very very very much appreciated, here and on [tumblr](http://www.wrino.tumblr.com)!


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